


Truth/Dare

by ritazien



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Truth or Dare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-15
Updated: 2014-08-15
Packaged: 2018-02-13 06:02:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2139804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ritazien/pseuds/ritazien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which a party at Avengers Tower turns into a game of truth or dare and Natasha may or may not be manipulating this whole situation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Truth/Dare

Tony is not sober. He's not drunk (not yet), but it's been a few hours since he's been able to access his full capacities. About an hour ago, Natasha found a blender and got to blending. Every bottle in Avengers Tower is out on the kitchen bench, and the machine is currently being manned by Clint. Tony strolls in, to find that Clint's version of 'manning' involves crazy 80s-esque dance moves. He looks up and grins at Tony, who reaches over to turn off the blender and pour himself a glass of... whatever the hell this is.

“Whose playlist is this?” Clint asks, sliding into a stool near him. The buzz from his last drink is already starting to wear off, and a fading Stark is not what this party needs. From the speakers, Aerosmith changes to REO Speedwagon, and Tony laughs.

“Thor. He was into Bob Dylan and the Beatles last week.” Tony had walked past him lying on the couch, brow furrowed in concentration, eyes closed and headphones on. Later that night, they'd gotten into a rabbit hole of a conversation about Midgard politics.

“Can only imagine what he'd be like if he got high,” Clint shakes his head.

Tony grins. “I was around for that, too. He's surprisingly touchy-feely.”

Clint narrows his eyes. “That was your doing, wasn't it?”

Tony lifts one shoulder in a shrug, a look of what he can only assume to be pure innocence on his face. Clint shoves him, and takes the blender from in front of him, refilling his own glass. Tony takes a long sip of the green liquor and forces it down, fighting off a cringe.

“That is disgusting,” he says roughly, and takes another slug of it. He can taste mint, far too much mint for the amount of alcohol in it, and the alcohol – oh boy. He casts a glance across the bench, taking note of the tequila, vodka, gin, cheap scotch, and white wine. From the taste of that stuff, there's no way a single bottle was untouched in the making of it. This has to be some kind of blasphemy. At the very least, the word _absurdity_ comes to mind.

Clint slaps him on the back and chugs his in three heavy gulps. Tony watches it go down with admiration. The cup slides back onto the bench, and Clint's eyes are watering. Wait, is he breathing?

He coughs once, sounding like a choke, and then he's breathing normally again. He looks across to Tony. “Disgusting,” he affirms.

“You guys look like you're in a college drinking contest,” Natasha says, running her hands along the bench.

“Nat!” Clint jumps out of his chair and slides round the kitchen island to wrap one arm around her. She doesn't react to it, just raises an eyebrow at Tony.

“Where's Banner?” she asks, and a stone sinks in his stomach. Banner. He's...

“Balcony,” he answers after a second. “He's not participating, for obvious reasons.”

“It's gotta be an adjustment,” she ponders, gazing out at the balcony. Then she shrugs, grabs the half-full (or half-empty, depending on how you look at it) bottle of wine, and heads out to the living room, Barton in tow.

There's a crash from the room, and Tony follows them out to investigate. Thor's broad smile falters as he looks down at the broken glass at his feet.

“My apologies, Tony,” he declares, everything a declaration at his normal volume. “I know this is not a custom, I dropped the goblet by accident.”

“Don't worry about it,” Tony says. “Broom's in the kitchen.”

Thor nods and strides through to the kitchen. Tony, avoiding the glass on the floor, strolls outside and leans against the balcony railing, next to Bruce.

“Hey, Big Green. You should join us.”

“You know that's a terrible idea,” Bruce sighs.

“Oh, come on. If anything, Clint's party mix'll slow your heart rate and you'll end up in a stupor.”

“I can't risk it.”

Tony groans. “At least come be our boring chaperone.”

Bruce glances over at him, and Tony takes that as encouragement. “Thor needs you right now.”

Bruce turns his head, takes in the scene in the living room. Thor has abandoned the broom and dust pan by the couch and is dragging Nat into a dance. Bruce raises his eyebrows at Tony.

“Fine, _Barton_ needs you.”

Bruce's gaze lands on Clint, who is swinging himself over a bar in a doorway, bow in hand. Bruce's eyes widen. “How did he get into the armory?”

“Oh, he leaves those all over the place. I found an arrow behind a couch cushion last night.”

“That's dangerous.”

“Yeah, you should get inside and tell him all about it.”

Bruce glances between Tony, Clint and his wristband. He sighs, resigned. “Anything that happens is on you, Stark.”

“As usual,” Tony grins.

Bruce huffs and steps past him into the living room. He heads straight for Clint, and Tony shakes his head to himself. Natasha's low giggle catches his ear, and he watches Thor spin her round once, from which she detaches herself and pulls some backwards move out of nowhere. Thor looks impressed and Clint applauds, still upside down. Bruce demands his attention again, and Clint rolls his eyes.

Natasha stretching out her neck, Thor squinting at the iPod dock, Clint landing on his feet, Bruce leaving the room, bow in hand, Tony watching from the balcony, and that's when Steve walks in. His head turns to follow Banner leaving with the bow, and then his attention is back on the living room, and his eyes meet Tony's. Tony watches him coolly, waiting for him to look away, and when he doesn't, Tony feels the challenge like heat in his chest. Rogers makes his way through the room, and Tony glances Banner re-entering the room behind him, but forgets him as Steve leans against the open doorway to the balcony.

“Looking good, Cap,” Tony says, his gaze sweeping appreciatively across Steve's chest. He's yet to see a shirt on the man that doesn't fit him in all the right places, and it gets to Tony in all the wrong places. Steve shifts against the door frame, and Tony smirks.

“Planning on joining the celebration?” he asks, and Tony shrugs.

“Already started.”

“Of course you have,” he mutters.

That feeling right there is not disappointment, and Tony is not going to indulge it for a single second. “Try to have some fun tonight, Rogers.”

Steve frowns. “I do have fun, you know.”

“Great. Prove it.”

Steve shakes his head, looking out at the view behind Tony. “I don't have to prove anything.”

“You should try a drink. Barton's mix might even get to you.”

“It won't,” Steve says.

“Between you and Banner, this party is going to turn into an angst-fest real fast.”

“Have you considered lowering your expectations?”

“Trust me, they're practically non-existent at this point.”

Steve's lip curls in an actual smile, and Tony is taken aback.

“I'll see you round, Stark.” He pushes off the frame and Tony watches him walk away, momentarily forgetting there are other people around. When he looks up, Romanoff catches his eye, a wicked look in hers. Tony winks at her, ignoring the oh crap feeling creeping up on him as her gaze flickers across to Steve.

He walks in from the balcony, leaving the door open to let the warm night air sweep through the room. That, and if he closes it, he's pretty sure either an arrow, a throwing star, a Thor or a Hulk is going through it. He can't say his life isn't interesting.

Another drink down and Barton mixes up another, stronger (because somehow that is possible) batch. Banner's been hovering, mostly catching Barton as he stumbles and removing any weapons from the room as he finds them. The house and the Avengers become increasingly blurred out the more Tony drinks. He recognizes there's a connection there, and when the room does a full spin, he decides to stop for a while.

“You,” he says – shouts? - to Barton, who just executed a near-perfect double roll across the floor. Apparently ex-carnies get athletic when drunk. “Never do drinks again.” There has to be something else in that mix, this is not a normal intoxication. He turns around, the room still around him again, and finds himself several inches from Steve.

“And you,” he says. There's still that edge of _ugh_ to everything Tony feels right now. He grabs Steve's sleeve and shakes his head, turning away and heading over to Banner. His _ugh_ flips to _yes_ and he drops onto the couch next to his favorite science bro.

“What,” he says, ignoring the slight amusement in Banner's expression, “do you think of taking the electron particles from the-” A hand ruffles his hair, and he bends his head back to see who it is. Pepper's dry smile is the best thing in the world right now.

“Pepper! When did you get here?”

“Ten minutes ago.”

Tony blinks. “I didn't see you come in.”

“You were a little busy,” she says, and straightens. He turns around to face her properly.

“I'm not busy now.”

Bruce shakes his head and gets up, heading over to stop Thor knocking another glass on the floor.

“Marvelous!” Thor bellows, and looks around the room. “We shall play this game.” Clint and Natasha are by his side, nonplussed.

“What game?” Banner asks, looking nervous.

“Truth-Dare,” he announces.

“Truth or Dare,” Natasha corrects.

“The kids' game?” Steve asks, returning from wherever he'd gone in the last few minutes.

Tony laughs. “I'm down.”

“Isn't that a little high school?” Pepper asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Not if you do it right,” he says, observing the reactions in the room, lingering on Steve. When he's back on Thor, he catches Nat smirking into her drink. Pepper rolls her eyes and comes round to sit on the chair next to Tony's couch. Romanoff shrugs and plants herself in the chair opposite Tony, Thor and Barton dragging chairs to sit either side of her. Banner takes a seat next to Thor, and Steve remains on the other side of the room. The only empty spot in the circle is the other side of Tony's couch, but he looks dubious about playing at all.

“I'll sit this one out,” he says.

Tony snorts, looking away from him blankly. “You've got nothing to prove, right?” he says, a challenge he doesn't phrase like bait. Steve takes it anyway.

He strides over and sits down, closer than expected, and stares at Tony until he turns to meet his gaze. “Right,” he says. Tony swallows.

“How do we begin?” Thor asks eagerly, the giant goddamn puppy that he is.

“You choose truth or dare,” Natasha says.

Tony takes the glass out of Pepper's hands and takes a drink, the water going down smoothly. He looks down at it like it's wronged him personally and hands it back to Pepper with a frown. “You're so boring now.” She sighs and grabs a bottle from the table behind her, hands it to him.

“I assume you don't need a glass,” she says, eying him up.

“What am I, an animal?”

“No, you're Tony Stark.”

He hesitates. “Point.” She hands him a glass anyway, fairy godmother that she is, and Tony pours himself a drink. He sips on it and nods, knowing he's going to need it to get through this game without thinking.

While Tony was addressing the state of his blood alcohol level, Thor has chosen dare.

“Anyone?” Nat asks, looking around the circle for suggestions.

“I want to see him shoot,” Clint says.

“I'll accept that challenge,” Thor says, grinning. "Who has a bow?"

Tony sticks his hand down the back of the couch and raises a single eyebrow at Barton as he pulls out one of his smaller bows.

“How did I miss that?” Bruce marvels.

“I told you, Banner, couch cushions," Tony shrugs.

“Damn,” Clint says.

With a shit-eating grin, Tony tosses the bow to Thor, who catches it easily and taps on the string. Clint passes him an arrow.

“Aim for that wall, okay?” Pepper says, and gestures to the wall across, opposite the balcony. Thor nods.

He stands, places the arrow just right, and after a moment of high tension in the group, releases the string. The arrow shoots past Cap and into the wall with a sharp thud. Tony turns, takes in the place on the wall, and realizes they're probably lucky no one got hit. Barton nods, neither impressed or disappointed, and there's a sad kind of resignation in Banner's eyes.

“What's next?” Thor asks, still standing.

“Sit down, it's Clint's turn,” Nat says. He does, and she looks to Barton. “Truth or dare?”

There's a warm hand light on Tony's arm, and he turns to Steve. “Is every round like that?” he asks quietly.

“Knowing this group, that might be tame,” he says, attention split between the hand on his arm and the easy way Steve takes him in. He hears the breath, and then Steve is apart from him completely. His air feels shallow.

Barton's looking a little pale, and chooses, “Dare.”

Tony narrows his eyes. Yeah, the guy's got stuff he doesn't want to talk about. Everyone here does. Damn, with this group, dare is the easy option.

He glances across at Steve, watching Bruce dare Clint to eat a chilli with wasabi from the kitchen. Steve smiles, an effortless smile, and Tony looks away.

He catches Bruce's eye and says, “Barton's eaten worse than that.”

“I don't want an arrow in the foot,” he explains, and Tony nods. Peacekeeper.

“Good man.”

Natasha grabs the items from the kitchen, and about a minute later, Barton's eyes are watering and he demands water. Banner gives him a glass of milk instead, and returns to his seat, the picture of patience. Barton chokes on the milk at one point, but then it's over, Thor's laughter dies down, and it's Banner's turn. The picture of patience turns to some abstract painting of worry.

“I got you,” Tony reassures him, and asks the obligatory, “Truth or dare?”

He hesitates. “Truth.”

“What's your maiden name?”

Thor laughs, Clint snorts. Pepper leans in, gestures for Tony to move closer, and he does. “Last time he spoke to Betty Ross?” she suggests.

He pulls back. “Why don't you ask it?”

“I don't want to go next,” she says, and yeah, he saw that look between her and Romanoff.

“Okay, Banner, when did you last see or speak to Betty?” he asks.

Bruce opens his mouth, doesn't speak, and everyone else is quiet.

Steve moves forward on the couch. “You don't have to-”

“No, he does,” Tony interrupts. “Sorry, Brucie, it's the name of the game. It's an easy question."

“Yeah, no, I guess it's been a while. When I came out of remission, she called. It's nothing exciting, guys.”

Tony nods once, accepting the answer, and Banner says, “And you, Tony? Truth or dare?”

“Dare,” he says easily.

“I dare you to kiss Steve,” Romanoff says, and his heart skips.

“You...”

“This is inappropriate,” Steve says, and his heart might actually stop.

“Name of the game,” she smirks.

“Fine,” Steve says, something ignited in him.

“Not on the cheek, either. Obviously.”

If the dare itself isn't a surprise, the reaction is. Rather, the lack of reaction. Everyone is just waiting, like watching Iron Man and Captain America make out is another day at Avengers Tower. Tony scoffs. This is... This is... He looks at Steve, who is watching him expectantly, looking like he doesn't want this to be happening, and Tony swallows. He licks his lips, ignores the others, and moves down the couch, closing the distance in barely one move. His mouth meets Steve's, and his eyes close easily. Steve's lips part, and Tony presses back deeper, shifting to sit up against him. His hand comes up to the nape of Steve's neck, and their lips move more fervently. Steve's hand is on his hip, gripping, gripping almost too hard, the other in his hair, and Tony barely breathes it in. Steve pulls away gently, and Tony registers him looking away self-consciously before he pulls him back, the hand on his neck slipping around to his throat, and Steve pushes him against the back of the couch, pressing them together like Tony's a magnet keeping them there.

Someone clears their throat, and Steve pulls away with a rush of air. Tony grits his teeth and breathes through what has to be a grimace. Everyone is staring at them, and he's still living thirty seconds ago, he's still feeling those hands on him. He wants Steve back to himself.

Steve, who'd seen Tony glaring at the others, looks away, upset clear on his face. “Satisfied?” Steve asks Natasha. She eyes them both carefully, purses her lips, and shrugs. For probably the first time, Tony feels real dislike for her.

 

Laying in bed, covers strewn across him haphazardly, Tony's memory is this: several awesome moments of mutual kissing, and Steve pulled away. He went back in, because despite Tony's expansive imagination, none of his ideas had come close to the real thing. Steve pushed him against the couch, pulled away again. His reflections of the night all have a generally desperate feel to them, and the thought of never getting to do that again makes him want to hit something. Or build something. He could go down to the workshop, tinker with his latest suit, work through the angst, but he settles for pills instead. They work quickly, and he gets a full five hours of dreamless peace from that night.

When he wakes up, consciousness drudging itself out of the prescription drug-induced haze, he groans. He gets out of bed, knowing there's no more sleep available to him, pulls a t-shirt on to join his grease-stained sweatpants, and drains the glass of water that had somehow appeared on his bedside table. It must have been Pepper. There's no way it was his own foresight.

He trudges into the kitchen to see Natasha there alone. He stops for a second before going about his usual cereal routine.

“Mind filling me in on last night?” he asks, leaning against the bench as he eats.

She places her newspaper down, and looks him square in the eye. “Did you really black out?”

“I mean on why you thought that dare was a good idea,” he demands.

“It was truth or dare, someone gets that one every time,” she says smoothly.

“Right, so it had to be me and Steve.”

“Better than me.”

“Clint made you and Pepper do the same,” he deadpans.

“Yeah,” she says slowly, purposefully, and he has the sense he's going to regret this conversation. “We had a sweet peck, didn't we?”

“Sure,” he says carefully.

“I didn't mind it. Sounds like you didn't enjoy yours, though,” she says casually, picking the newspaper back up.

“I mean, it wasn't-”

Steve walks in then, timing as terrible as usual. Natasha moves swiftly around the kitchen, rinsing her plate and placing it in the dishwasher. She stops by Tony, looks pointedly at his hipbone, where his shirt has ridden up, and says, “Sweet peck?”

He frowns as she leaves, and looks down at his skin, at the barely noticeable, light purple bruise forming there, and the sight brings back an overwhelming memory of Steve's hand there last night. He takes a moment to remember what breathing is, and pulls his shirt down.

Steve regards him carefully, and a gaze that light shouldn't feel so heavy. Yeah, shit, Tony has to get this out of the way.

“Sorry about last night, Cap,” he says, the words thick on his tongue. Apologizing is not a natural effort for him, especially for doing things he actually wants to do. But if this gets uncomfortable, the team is screwed.

“Sorry?”

“You know me, I get carried away,” he says, hoping they can brush this off. If they can brush this off, he can find a way around Steve's general state of barely tolerating him.

“I do know you,” Steve says quietly. “I don't want your apology.”

Tony pauses, wishing Steve would make this easy on him. There's only silence, weighing more with each second. “Well, can you take it anyway? I don't want this hanging over us. We still live together. We still have to save the world, occasionally.” Steve gets the butter from the fridge, not looking at Tony. “Steve, look at me.”

He does. “What should I think, Stark?”

Tony sits back on a stool. “I don't know, Christ. Think what you want, it's not going to change anything.”

Steve sighs quietly. “What is there to change?”

Tony stands up again. “Okay, I'm not enjoying this conversation. See you round, Rogers,” he says, echoing Steve's words from last night. He starts to turn, but before he leaves, he has to get this in. “You bruised me, you know.”

“I'm sure your ego will survive,” Steve huffs.

“No, you literally bruised me,” Tony says, too loud, and pulls his shirt up. Steve's eyes stick to the blooming bruise, and he pales.

His eyes raise to Tony's. “I'm sorry,” he says, stricken, and it goes to Tony's gut.

“Whatever. If you won't accept an apology, I'm not going to bother with excuses. That kiss was forced on us, but I wanted it. I wanted it, but I'm sorry I pushed it, take it or leave it, I'll be in the garage.”

Tony doesn't make it out of the kitchen. Steve rounds the bench and blocks the main entrance.

“What do you mean?” he asks, and Tony doesn't know where this is going, but he's going to say what he wants to say. He's going to say what he's been thinking.

He reaches up to touch Steve, hand brushing his jaw, and the only reaction is around his eyes. This kind of touching is not allowed. That's a thing, right? This isn't welcome? He can't tell right now. “I don't think there are clearer terms than I wanted it. How about this: I wanted you. Only, not past tense. I don't even care if saying this ruins everything, I want you.”

Steve catches Tony's hand, brings it back round to rest against his neck. He's not quite smiling, but he seems... lighter. Tony's heart is louder in his ears, and he stretches his fingers up into that hair, this proximity making everything feel denser and as Steve lays a hand on his chest like he did last night, a familiar feeling settles below the belt.

“Tony,” he says seriously, and Tony shifts his focus back to words. “I meant, what do you mean you pushed it?”

“I pushed it, I wanted more, you pulled away,” he mutters. He moves forward, making Steve step back against the wall. Closer still, and they're pressed together in most places that don't count.

“I... I had you pinned against the couch,” Steve says.

“No, you were... Pushing me away,” Tony frowns, and he's starting to think his self-pitying mind has changed some details here.

“Like you're pushing me away right now?” Tony stares at him, eyes to mouth to throat to eyes. Steve's voice lowers, “I pulled away because we were surrounded by people staring at us.”

Tony starts to smirk, but then he continues, “And what I want is generally something done in private.” The smirk is gone, and Tony is all business, leaning up to take his mouth against his own, his other hand pushing up Steve's sleeve. Steve's arm snakes around and presses Tony into him at his lower back.

“Oh, come on guys, get a room,” comes a distinctly Clint-like voice, and Tony's head falls back, a breathy grin in place.

Another day at Avenger's Tower.


End file.
